Forgiving Pride
by elliejelliebean
Summary: New York City, 2008: Witty and clever Elizabeth Bennet goes to work for the insufferably proud Fitzwilliam Darcy, a highly respected city lawyer...
1. Prologue: First Impressions

**A/N: Hello everyone! As you can see, I have a new story, and it really could not be more different from The Guests of Pemberley House (which I am working on an update for right now, I swear). I decided to go modern on all of you, as I've seen so many of these kind of fictions lately and they have grabbed my interest. I hope this one is to your liking! The prologue is rather dull, I know; I merely needed to get Elizabeth in that insufferable Darcy's office. I hope you enjoy and more should be coming soon. :) **

Prologue - First Impressions

I could feel my stomach turn nervously as I stood there in the scorching hot shower and mentally reviewed my resume. The shower usually was calming for me, but today even the thick steam that surrounded me was not enough to ease my anxious mind.

I stuck my head around the shower curtain to take a peek at the alarm clock that was on my sink next to my nail polish and toothpaste. The purpose of this alarm clock was to monitor the length of my showers, which were notoriously long.

It was 5:29. I sighed in an attempt to calm myself. In exactly 91 minutes, I would be beckoned into the office of one of the most prestigious law firms in New York to interview for the position of secretary to one of their most skilled lawyers. Usually, things like this didn't scare me. I was naturally very smart and good with people, which provided for good interviewing skills. But I was uncomfortable being in a place where I didn't know how to behave.

And I didn't. I had absolutely no idea how a secretary to a highly respected New York City lawyer should act. I grew up in the country, outside of the little town of Meryton, Iowa, but left home at age 18 to go to Columbia. Back in Meryton, I had only worked as a waitress at Lucas Lodge, the diner where all the truck drivers stopped. And even then, I hadn't had to go through the awkward I-don't-know-what-to-do phase of a job—my friend Charlotte, whose parents owned the place, had me trained before I was officially hired one night when I was sleeping over at her house. In New York, I hadn't had a single job; my father had insisted that I focus on my studies.

But now I was done with college, and was learning the hard way something that I had been told thousands of times before: it is nearly impossible to make it as a creative writer. The Columbia diploma doesn't take away from this fact at all.

Still, I was determined. But if I wanted to make it as a writer, I needed another job…another high-paying job…and quickly.

I took a second to calm myself before turning the water off and grabbing a towel. I was going to need to have all of my wits about me today.

* * *

The fact that the office was on the 85th floor of the Empire State Building did nothing to calm my nerves. I remembered being in this very lobby sixteen years prior with my older sister Jane and my Dad, who had taken the two of us on a business trip with him so that we could "witness for ourselves the wonders of New York." My Dad had loved to travel, in his day, but these days vacations meant lots of time cooped up with my mother and three crazy teenage sisters, so they generally tended to stay at home.

People were everywhere in the lobby, all dressed in ties and skirts with briefcases at their sides. I looked down at my own apparel with approval—a white silk shirt of Jane's was tucked into a high wasted black skirt with black stockings and heels and a necklace of black pearls. It was sophisticated but not too formal, flattering but not provocative. So far I was doing okay.

I entered a very crowded elevator, filled mainly with men that seemed completely fine with the close proximity, as it was perfect for stealing glances or standing just a little bit closer than necessary. I rolled my eyes and was quite relieved when I was the only one who got off on the 85th floor—it would be mightily awkward to work alongside a man whose first encounter with me involved wordlessly sneaking glances at my chest.

I looked upon the reception area with an air of annoyance. It was exceedingly fashionable and modern, totally minimalist and all clean cut lines. It would have impressed most, I was sure, but the style didn't appeal to me. It was most inefficient for storage and practicality and was just about the least welcoming environment I could imagine. Its only purpose was to impress, and I found it ridiculous.

The receptionist greeted me happily and kindly.

"Elizabeth Bennet? Oh, right, you are the last to interview for the open secretary position—just go through that door over there. Mr. Hurst, our Chief of Staff, is waiting for you." She pointed to a door on the left with a smile.

"Thank you," I said, the feeling of unease deep in my chest.

* * *

An hour later, I sat at my new desk, my feelings a mix of happiness at receiving the job so quickly and anticipation at meeting my boss. From the way Mr. Hurst had described the job, I was less of a secretary and more of a personal assistant, attending to my employer's every need. I was anxious to see the man that I would be spending most of my time here with.

I surveyed the room around me. My boss's office, meaning my office, his own personal conference room, and his own personal office, was decorated in tastes much more to my liking. The sleek modern style was gone, replaced by deep mahogany desks, and tall, full bookshelves.

Quite suddenly, the door opened, and a tall, very, very handsome man with shocking blue eyes and dark hair entered the room.

I stood up quickly and introduced myself.

"I'm Ellie Bennet, your new secretary. Pleased to meet you, Sir." Mr. Darcy simply looked at me disdainfully before walking forward, throwing his coat on my desk, and retreating to his office.

What had I gotten myself into?


	2. Ch 1: Sticky Notes and Mind Games

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your kind response last chapter. It gave me the inspiration I needed for this one, and trust me, I needed it. When I was about three quarters done with this chapter, my computer restarted suddenly to 'install updates' and failed to retrieve my document upon restarting (of course, the updates weren't configured correctly anyway, but whatever. Grr Microsoft lol). Anyhow, I very much wanted to get you this chapter seeing as I am leaving for two weeks, and, while I still may be able to update occasionally, they could be few and far between. I wanted this chapter to be longer and to introduce you to Mr. Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley, but the whole losing-the-chapter thing made that wait until next update. Again, sorry for the long author's note, and enjoy.**

Chapter 1 - Sticky Notes and Mind Games

"_I'm Ellie Bennet, your new secretary. Pleased to meet you, Sir." Mr. Darcy simply looked at me disdainfully before walking forward, throwing his coat on my desk, and retreating to his office. _

_What had I gotten myself into?_

I sat there in shock. Had he really just walked by without talking to me and given me his coat to hang up, knowing that I would have no idea where to do so? Yes, I told myself incredulously. Yes, he had. But maybe he was just having a bad day?

Somehow, I doubted it.

I turned to look through the windows to his office. He was sitting at his desk, talking to someone on the phone and shuffling papers. Unexpectedly, he looked up and his deep blue eyes met my dark ones.

I realized too late that I was still standing there with my mouth slightly agape at his behavior, and quickly turned around and sat back down, flustered.

But before I had turned away, he had reddened slightly, as if embarrassed to be caught looking at me. I smirked triumphantly before returning to setting up my account on my computer.

The next hour passed without incident. I got the computer set up and straightened up the office before I realized that he had given me no instruction; I had no idea what to do for the rest of the day.

I resolved to go talk to him about this, and was embarrassed to find that I was very nervous about entering his office. _Come on_, I told myself. _He's just a regular guy. A jerk, maybe, but when it comes down to it, just a normal human being. There's nothing to be afraid of._

I knocked twice on his door.

"Come in," I heard a voice call.

"Um, Mr. Darcy?" No response. He didn't even look at me; he just kept shuffling through the papers on his desk. "Er, you haven't really given me anything to do."

His eyes shot up briefly to meet mine exasperatedly before he returned to his papers. "Surely you do not think me so absent-minded, Miss Bennet, as to believe that I had already given you instruction? Or so ignorant as to assume that Mr. Hurst would have taken the annoyance of training my new employee upon himself? I am quite aware that you having nothing to do, Miss Bennet. Had I wished to rectify that situation, I would have spoken to you myself."

As he spoke, I realized two things in quick succession.

Firstly, he was without doubt the most conceited, awful, unfeeling jerk I had ever laid eyes upon. I wondered how I would survive being in the same building as him every day from 5:30 to 3:00, let alone constantly under his command and scrutiny.

Secondly, he was British. He had an irritatingly beautiful voice, soft and musical, the type that was often compared with fabrics like silk or velvet. His accent suited him perfectly, and the way he said words like _surely_, _believe_, and _aware_ echoed in my mind and made me wish for him to never stop talking, no matter what insufferable words came out of his perfect mouth—as I had begrudgingly noticed, the stereotype of British teeth was incorrect. His were perfect.

Oh, the insufferable man! He had all the most beautiful of physical characteristics, and yet inside was so unbearably ugly! How could someone so…_attractive_, for lack of a better word, be so horribly awful? It was maddening! I hated him! I had never disliked someone so severely after such a short acquaintance. He had said but the one thing to me and already I would have celebrated his funeral.

Let it be known, at this point in time, that I happen to possess the embarrassing disability to control myself when angered. Therefore, I was not really that responsible for what came out of my mouth next.

"Forgive me, _sir_," I spat. "I thought that perhaps there may be something which I could _help_ you with, but you appear to be quite content in your independence. Should you require my assistance in the future, perhaps you should leave a memo on my desk, so as to save you the pains of lowering yourself to speak with me."

And I stormed out of the office.

Looking back, I realize that my behavior was pretty much the epitome of how _not_ to act in my position, and Mr. Darcy really should have fired me right then and there.

But he didn't. He didn't even look angered—he was too shocked. His eyes were wide, and I could feel them on me as I sat down at my desk and began furiously doodling on a sticky note (I believe the words "Die Darcy" are now permanently etched on my desk surface), where I remained for the rest of the day.

* * *

When I entered my apartment, Jane was in our small, happy kitchen, already cooking dinner for us. Jane was pretty much the easiest person on the planet to live with. She actually enjoyed cooking and cleaning and was probably the nicest person in the entire world.

"Did you get it? Did they hire you?" she exclaimed excitedly as I walked through the door, leaving her pot of spaghetti sauce on the stove as she came to hug me anxiously.

"Yeah, I got it. My first day was today," I said tiredly.

She shrieked. I looked at her with a half-smile. Jane was shy around absolutely everyone but me.

"I'm so happy for you, Ellie! Did you love it? How's Mr. Darcy?"

I sighed. "In all honestly, Janey, the only thing that I love about it is how much it pays. I'm not exaggerating when I say that there are not enough synonyms for asshole in the English language to describe my boss."

"Oh, come on Elle, he can't be so bad."

"Oh, just you wait, Janey," I said. "Get this. He walks in this morning, right? I stand up and introduce myself, all nice and formal, and you know what he does? Looks at me like I'm the scum of the earth, throws his jacket on my desk, and walks into his office without saying a word."

"He's probably just—"

"And then, after an hour of occupying myself, I walk into his office and tell him that I have nothing to do. In short, he says to me, without meeting my eyes, mind, that he ah-bviously knows that he hasn't assigned me anything and cleah-ly the chief of staff wouldn't have 'taken the annoyance of training his new employee'. He basically tells me that it was inappropriate for me to walk into his office when I've been sitting around for twenty minutes, unoccupied. So I said some stuff to him—" Jane looked pained. "Hey, I haven't been fired, have I? Anyway, I told him that I was just trying to help and perhaps he should leave me memos so that he didn't have to talk to me. Then I sat at my desk for the rest of the day. He never said a word to me except to tell me to get there at 5:30 the next morning. The rest of the staff starts at 7:00."

"Wow," Jane muttered. "He is pretty horrible…"

I laughed. "Oh, Janey. Only from you would 'pretty horrible' be enough to describe Mr. Darcy, but from you that's pretty much as bad as it gets, so I guess I'll deal."

She gave me a look that was both reprimanding and loving as she returned to the spaghetti sauce on the stove.

* * *

The next day, I was angry and disappointed but not altogether shocked to find a memo from Mr. Darcy on my desk atop a stack of papers. I scoffed at his handwriting—loopy, long, and perfect—and concentrated on the content of the note.

_Miss Bennet: Please make copies of these case files and return the originals to their places in my filing cabinet._

I smirked. I would be the picture of efficiency—it was 5:15, now; I had gotten there early. I would have the task done before he threw his coat on my desk for the morning.

And I did. I returned from the copy machine at 5:23 to find another memo.

_Miss Bennet: Please call Schuler, Schuler, and Brown and reschedule our meeting for this Wednesday._

And, underneath it, visible only after the top note was thrown away:

_Miss Bennet: Please get me my usual coffee._

By 10:00 that morning, I had learned how things would be in the office. Mr. Darcy never told you anything that you couldn't figure out for yourself. He would leave out things like where the copy machine was located, the number for Schuler, Schuler and Brown, the fact that I should leave a message because the law firm would be closed, what his usual coffee actually _was_, and, for that matter, where I should go to get it, because he wanted you to figure it out.

It was all a battle of the wits—he didn't tell me what his usual coffee was, but yesterday's coffee cup was face up in the trash can, the boxes for 'cream' and 'double-shot' checked on a cup that read "Lottie's Coffee House". He didn't tell me the number for Schuler, Schuler and Brown or tell me that it was unlisted, but it was in his contacts on his blackberry, which was therefore on my computer, because it had been plugged it into my computer before to update his schedule.

Everything was a puzzle, one that he watched me decipher with cruel amusement, and, if I read him correctly, a reluctant admiration that I never once failed him.

**A/N #2: You know, I actually hadn't thought about making him British until you two suggested it, but I grew to very much like the idea as I myself am a sucker for British accents. I decided, as a reward your kind reviews, to grant your wishes. Happy Update, Chrizel and Pinery! :)**


	3. Ch 2: Life Sucks

**A/N: This chapter is actually rather boring, if you ask me, but it is crucial to the story. So bear with me, here--it gets exciting soon. :) Thank you so much to all of the reviews; they motivate me more than anything else. **

Chapter 2- Life Sucks

I walked in the following Monday morning to find a stack of sticky notes at least a centimeter high on my desk next to my computer, where they always were. I sighed.

It had been a week. The five days of work had been torture, Mr. Darcy's tasks for me increasing in frequency and difficulty.

But the workload I could handle. I had always been very, very smart, the kind of smart that doesn't usually come with jobs like secretaries and coffee-fetchers but with ivy-leaguers and big-city-lawyers. This combined with the fact that I had a natural ease with people made me absolutely perfect for thisjob, and I approached Darcy's tasks for me with serenity and confidence, always finding ways to complete them, and quickly. By Wednesday, I was confident that I could handle anything that he threw at me.

No, it wasn't the workload that I was struggling with. As much as I hated to admit it, it was the loneliness that was making it hell for me to get out of bed at 4:30 every morning.

I had graduated only three months ago, and already all of my very good friends had gone off to pursue their chosen careers in the world outside of New York City. Any of my second-tier friends that had stayed in the city were so absorbed in launching their own careers that anytime we got together was forced and stressful. I had tried hanging out with some of my younger friends, this year's juniors and seniors, but the college lifestyle was one that I had left behind; I couldn't stay out until 3:00 in the morning and found myself losing interest in parties and ogling over frat boys.

Of course I had Jane, and then Charlotte and my Father, too, both of whom I emailed almost daily. But they couldn't satisfy my craving for company. Charlotte and Dad were only accessible by email, which just made me miss them more, and Jane was at the apartment less and less. She was a Kindergarten teacher, and about two weeks into the school year one of her kids started getting picked up every day by his very handsome and kind Uncle Charlie. They started talking, and then began to date so frequently I hardly ever saw Jane anymore in the evenings. I missed her.

Therefore, my days were almost entirely devoid of company. I got up and dressed in total solitude, then went to work and spent the entire day running around doing odd jobs for my boss. I didn't know anyone at work, for Mr. Darcy's office was rather secluded from the rest, and I could never steal a moment to go and spend some time in the break room. I heard that a group of people from work met for lunch at the café down the street on Tuesday and Thursday, but I also heard that that group of people included Mr. Darcy, and so I ate every day at my desk, alone.

I got home and always immediately started writing, but this wasn't the same release for me as it was before. I usually played off of funny or exciting things happening in my own life, and at the time I could find none.

Jane usually wasn't home for dinner, and often slipped in after I had gone to bed early so as to be well-rested for the next day of getting up at 4:30. In fact, from Thursday through Saturday, quite literally the only person I had any actual contact with was Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, and he still had not uttered one word to me since I had declared speaking to me to be beneath him on my fateful first day.

* * *

I walked into Darcy's office at about 9:00 that Monday morning, delivering his blackberry with his updated schedule (which I figured out on the third day I was intended to do without being asked), a stack of freshly printed business cards (of which he failed to tell me the name of the printer at which to pick them up), and his dry cleaning (of which he had failed to give me the pick-up ticket, which was, I learned after some searching, in his personal planner, tucked in between two legal documents).

I set these down on his desk wordlessly and turned to walk out the door. However, before I could open it, I heard his voice from behind me.

"Miss Bennet," he called. I regretfully admit that I was so deprived of company that his voice, which could have been any voice, really, to produce the same affect, sent shivers down my spine.

I turned and glared. "Yes?"

And in that moment, I am ashamed to say, I wished for him to say something, anything, that wasn't about copiers or business cards or dry-cleaning. I just needed to talk to someone. I needed a friend. I hoped very fiercely, in that split second, that our second encounter would be better than our first, maybe put us back on speaking terms, even if all it was was him ordering me around with his actual voice instead of sticky notes. That would be nice.

Maybe then I would feel comfortable enough to ask questions and be even more efficient. Maybe I would be so good at my job, then, that he would actually take a liking to me and I wouldn't have to sit in painful, silent solitude all day long.

I doubted it. I squished my hopes very quickly before he could himself. Mr. Darcy was Mr. Darcy, and he would always be. It would be foolish to think anything else even possible, downright stupid to hope for it.

My pessimism was rewarded.

"These business cards. I asked for them on Thursday. You deliver them to me now?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. He looked absolutely euphoric at finding a fault in me. What an asshole.

"Yes, you asked for them on Thursday, sir. I realized as I picked them up—on Thursday, mind—that your phone number had been printed wrong. I ordered for them to be reprinted as the very first priority, and I deliver them to you now, not even two workdays after your original request. Of course, I could have just left them, but I doubted that future clients would be very impressed when they first call you and receive on the other end a New Jersey Outback Steakhouse."

That familiar expression of shock crossed his face.

"That will be all," he said tightly.

* * *

The following Monday, I came home from work, stressed and weary. Things had not changed in the past week, except that Darcy now trusted me with more important, and therefore much harder, tasks. I still spoke to no one at work. I still rarely saw Jane. And I still, excepting our conversation the previous Monday, had not spoken a word to Mr. Darcy.

I found an email to my father that needed a response, and sat down to begin to type.

_Dear Dad,_

_Only you would truly appreciate the absurdities of my arrogant and insufferable boss. Jane is too nice and understanding to be any fun at all, and Charlotte simply tells me to weigh the pros and cons of keeping the job; she won't slam him or laugh at his obvious sick pleasure in torturing unsuspecting young secretaries. _

_I'm disappointed, amused, and not altogether surprised to hear that Katie and Lydia were suspended for fighting over a boy. Lydia is too careless to take anyone else's feelings into consideration, Katie is too eager to prove herself to be stomped on like that, and they are both just so silly. I only wished that they had made a little bit less of a spectacle about the whole bit; could Kate have waited to punch Liddy until they were home? Well, I suppose not—Mom would undoubtedly side wholly with Liddy, wouldn't she? Never mind the fact that he was Katie's boyfriend in the first place, and Liddy's the one who cheated... Oh, well. I'm glad Mary's recital went well and that she's improving so much on the piano since lessons. Send Mom my regards. _

_Dad, I've got to confess that life isn't treating me too kindly here in NYC. Jane's never around, all my friends are gone, and everyone at work I either don't know or don't care for—at all. This secretary job is stressing me out, and I can't write like I usually can. I wish you were here. You've always made me see the bright side of things. _

_Love always,_

_Ellie_

As I wrote the last paragraph, a tear escaped from my eye. I looked back at the email and was immediately embarrassed. I couldn't send something like that! How desperate was I?

I held down the backspace key and watched the last paragraph disappear. As the cursor ran across the screen, silent tears ran down my cheeks, until I was crying in earnest.

They weren't tears solely of sadness. I hardly ever cried when I was sad—I cried when I was too full. I was too full right now.

I was full of loneliness, of course, and then I was full of shame because I was so lonely. Could I not handle two weeks without constant company? And then I cried because I couldn't write and I could always write and what was I to do if I couldn't write? And then I cried because I was stressed. And then I cried because I wanted my Dad and Jane, and then I cried because I shouldn't want them—I should be able to deal with all of this myself. And then I cried because Jane was out being happy and loving someone and I was crying at my computer screen. And I cried because I was Elizabeth Bennet and I was crying for no real reason at all and that wasn't me.

I sobbed softly over my keyboard, feeling like I always did when I cried: simultaneously glad to let it all out and ashamed because I wasn't strong enough to hold it all in.

* * *

It was that following Tuesday, over three weeks since I had gotten the job, that it happened.

What surprised me most about the encounter wasn't the two men, one good looking, one rather plain, but both with laughter in their eyes, entering the office raucously and yelling: "Fitzy, oh Fitzy! We're back!"

It wasn't the fact that they were highly respected city lawyers Mr. Charles Bingley and Mr. Edmund Fitzwilliam—I had seen their pictures on firm literature—and they were entering Mr. Darcy's office like they were a pair of teenagers, running right past my desk and loudly opening Mr. Darcy's personal office door.

No, what surprised me the most was Darcy's reaction to the men.

For as they walked into his office, shouting joyful cries of "Fitzy!" so loud I could hear them from my desk, he _smiled_ at them.

And then I knew that everything was about to change.

So I smiled, too.


	4. Ch 3: Happiness is Strictly Forbidden

**A/N: Hello, all! I'm so sorry that it has been so long since I've updated--what with college touring for my brother and trying to prepare to leave for my Sophomore year at boarding school myself, life has been hectic. But alas, I bring you Chapter 3 in Forgiving Pride, in which Ellie finds solace from her lonliness in Bingley and Fitzwilliam, and Darcy is an asshole. Enjoy!**

Chapter 3: Happiness is Strictly Forbidden

_For as Charles Bingley and Edmund Fitzwilliam walked into __his office, shouting joyful cries of "Fitzy!" so loud I could hear them from my desk, he _smiled _at them._

_And then I knew that everything was about to change._

_So I smiled, too._

Of course, Mr. Darcy will be Mr. Darcy, so his smile was sheepish, looking as if it graced his face (making him just about one thousand times handsomer, if that was possible) without his permission.

"Because I'm so happy to see you two back again," he said, "I'm going to let the _Fitzy_ slide this time. But don't think you'll—"

"Oh shut up, cousin dearest," Mr. Fitzwilliam said happily. "You know we're only kidding."

"Yeah, cool it, Fitz," Mr. Bingley added jauntily. Mr. Darcy looked murderous, so Mr. Fitzwilliam cut in.

"So what have we missed?" He asked hurriedly. "See you've got yourself a hot new secretary. You like her, Will? You finally breaking your own rules and giving in to the irresistible office romance?"

"Oh, please, Ed! Of course not!" Mr. Darcy said, and I wondered how in the world he was friends with these two.

"She doesn't tempt you?" Mr. Bingley joked. "Not even a little?"

"Not at all." I wondered when Darcy would start breathing fire—he sounded almost scary. I couldn't help but to be hurt a little bit by his words. I mean, I knew perfectly well that he hated me, but judging from the tone of his voice, it went beyond that. It was loathing. He _loathed_ me. And I didn't tempt him _at all_. I mean, I'm not a particularly vain person, but I've always received significant attention from the male sex, so a question like that answered so vehemently in the negative came as a bit of a blow.

It made me hate him more. I mean, sure, he was a jerk, and I knew that it wasn't right, but it was a hell of a lot easier to like assholes like Darcy if they liked you too. And it was a definitely a lot easier to forgive someone's personal vanity if they didn't wound yours.

Oh, how he angered me.

"Sounds like this woman has stirred some long dormant passion in your veins, Will!" Mr. Fitzwilliam said.

"Passion only of the negative sort," he said. "She's too clever and strong-minded for her own good."

Ouch. That one hit home - I often worried that I came off too strong. I tried to heal my wounded pride with reminding myself of how incredibly awful he was, but it didn't work.

"Okay, I _have_ to meet her," Mr. Fitzwilliam said, almost giddily.

"You _will not_—" Mr. Darcy began, and apparently Mr. Fizwilliam took it as some sort of a challenge, because all of a sudden, he strode out of the office and stopped in front of my desk.

"Edmund Fitzwilliam," he introduced, holding his hand out to me and smiling warmly. "I'm one of Darcy's partners."

"Elizabeth Bennet," I said, smiling back at him. I felt unquestionably at ease with him, free to be totally myself. I relaxed. "Darcy's new secretary."

"I am honored to make your acquaintance," he said jokingly, bowing a little. I noticed very quickly that he really wasn't _that_ bad looking; his nose was a little wide at the bottom, certainly, and he had rather greasy dirty blonde hair, but he was not by any means repulsive.

"Oh, sir, the pleasure is all mine," I bantered back with a curtsey.

"I do strongly anticipate furthering our acquaintance sometime in the near future?" he said, continuing with the banter but now a little serious, too; the slight cock of his eyebrows conveyed to me that he meant it rather as a question.

"As do I, Sir, as do I," I answered with a laugh.

He smiled at me like he had never seen anything more wonderful and then headed back to the door to Darcy's office, a smug smile on his face.

"Oh, and Mr. Fitzwilliam?" I called to him, an eyebrow cocked and a small smile gracing my lips. "May I suggest using—oh, what do they call it—your 'inside voice' in Darcy's office? Walls are thin here, you know," I winked at him. He laughed a booming laugh.

"Say, Miss Bennet, how do you feel about joining Darcy, Bingley and I for lunch this afternoon?"

I caught a glimpse of Darcy, sitting in his office and looking positively murderous. He was glaring at Mr. Fitzwilliam, so much anger in his eyes that I feared for my new friend's safety. I suppose he was angry because of Mr. Fitzwilliam's invitation for me to attend lunch with all of them. Ha! With a smug smile on my face and nothing in mind other than how much this would piss him off, I said:

"Why, Mr. Fitzwilliam, I would be honored."

* * *

Mr. Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley left a few minutes later, after catching up a little bit more on the latest happenings in the office. From their conversation, I gathered that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Fitzwilliam had not been in the office for the past two weeks because they were doing "field work" or something of the sort. I also gathered that, despite clashing personalities and the seeming impossibility of the situation, the three men actually were very, very good friends. I secretly wondered why they put up with Mr. Darcy, but he did seem a heck of a lot nicer when talking to them, despite his worse-than-usual mood ever since the conversation between Mr. Fitzwilliam and me.

That mood continued for several hours, until the strangest thing happened. Mr. Darcy was walking through my office, headed to a 10:00 meeting, when he suddenly stopped. His eyes were both appraising and torn, his expression pained. He looked as if he wanted to say something to me, but then quite suddenly turned and walked away.

* * *

I felt a sick kind of excitement as 12:00 and my lunch with my colleagues neared. I was excited to spend time with Mr. Fitzwilliam, who was both perfectly amiable and clearly admiring, and Mr. Bingley, who was handsome and good-natured. But more than that, I was excited to spend time in a relaxed setting with Darcy. He had it coming, and I knew that I could kick anyone's butt socially—my wit was famous in Meryton and among my senior class at Columbia. I needed to put him in his place (respectfully, of course), and hopefully, in doing so, lessen his feelings of infinite superiority. It would give me a sick kind of satisfaction to watch him suffer at the hands of my wit.

I arrived at the restaurant at 12:07 and instantly spotted all three of them already sitting at a table, accompanied by another woman with whom I was unfamiliar. Mr. Fitzwilliam saw me, smiled, and waved me over.

"Miss Elizabeth!" Mr. Fitzwilliam said, standing up to greet me with a huge smile on his face. I smiled back and hurried through the stylish, expensive restaurant to the table.

"Caroline," Mr. Fitzwilliam said, "This is Will's delightful new secretary, Elizabeth. I asked her to accompany us for lunch today."

Mr. Fitzwilliam smiled at me happily, but I paid hardly any attention, for Mr. Darcy's stare was fixed on me, and with his intense blue eyes it was positively scalding. I felt as if he were burning me. His stare was relentless, no doubt relishing in the fact that I was dressed a little too casually for this restaurant and the fact that my hair was curly and unruly out of its headache-inducing elastic.

I hated that I felt conscious of these things only now, with him looking at me like that. Before, I had been perfectly contented with the way I looked. Curse him.

Caroline was noticing Darcy's stare. From the way she looked at him and the very close proximity in which they sat, I gathered that they were either together or, at least, she wanted to be.

And from the way she looked at me, I gathered that she had taken Darcy's lead in hating me. The way she glared at me! It was as if she had never seen anything more repulsive in her entire life.

The silence was getting awkward at this point, so I stuck out my hand towards the hateful woman with a smile plastered on my face.

"It's lovely to meet you, Caroline," I said kindly, a little bit too generously for the way she was looking at me.

"Likewise," she said snottily.

"Caroline is Charlie's sister," Mr. Fitzwilliam explained.

"Mr. Bingley"—I started, but I was interrupted.

"Please, it's Charlie," he said warmly.

"Oh yes," Mr. Fitzwilliam added with a smile. "And please call me Ed."

Now would be the appropriate time for Darcy to add his wishes for first name correspondence, but, surprising no one, his mouth stayed shut. In fact, he was staring off into space, not even paying attention to the conversation! The silence was just long enough to be a little awkward before Ed broke it.

"What should we call _you_, Miss Elizabeth?" he asked with a raising of his eyebrows.

I smiled warmly at him. "Everyone calls me Ellie."

"I love that name!" Bingley said happily and a bit childishly. "I have a three year old niece called Elissiana, and I keep begging for my sister to call her Ellie, but she won't have it."

I laughed. I liked my name. And Elissiana was definitely a mouthful.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters, Ellie?" Charlie asked.

"Yes. Four sisters," I said, a little exasperatedly, a little happily, unintentionally representing my feelings towards my family.

"Such a large family!" Caroline said archly. Gosh, she reminded me of Darcy! Well, no, not really. But still--she was suited well for him. Their personalities were quite similar. She deserved him.

"Yes, it is," I allowed. "It got a little crazy growing up, living in a household with four sisters, three of them younger than myself. I'm quite sure my dad almost killed himself from all of the estrogen," Ed and Charlie laughed appreciatively.

I launched into a story of my father's infamous groan when he saw Lydia for the first time, wrapped in a pink blanket. My mother had been furious.

"Yeah, but things are a lot quieter now, these days," I said after the story. "It's just my older sister Jane and me here in New York, and she's just about the sweetest, most honestly good person you'll ever meet."

As soon as I said the name "Jane," Charlie's face got bright red. I wasn't the only one who noticed.

Ed started laughing. Even the corner of Darcy's mouth twitched. Caroline was looking at her brother in loving disapproval.

But Charlie didn't notice their laughing. His face had faded and he was now was staring at me curiously. "What did you say your last name was, Ellie?"

"Bennet. Why?"

Charlie looked positively elated! "Ellie! Elizabeth! You're Jane's sister! You're the one closest to her in age, her best friend, and the only one that she tells absolutely everything to!"

He looked very proud of himself for remembering all of that.

I laughed. I was incredulous. "Yes," I said. "Yes, I am! It's a small world, is it not?"

"It certainly is!"

And as I looked into his twinkling eyes, I felt nothing but elation at the thought that _this_ was the man that my sister had fallen for.

* * *

We left the restaurant far past the end of our lunch hour, but I gathered that all of the people that I was with were such big-shots, they could do essentially whatever they pleased. I had been invited back for all of their Tuesday/Thursday lunches from this point on, which pretty much made my pathetic, lonely life.

The lunch had been very happy, especially for me, with my whole no-human-contact deal for the past few weeks. Three of us had shared a lot of laughs, hindered only by Caroline's snootiness and Darcy's two favorite activities: staring at me and staring into space. I felt a little miffed that he never said anything that I could respond to and also very wounded—that he hated me so much for intruding on his lunches he could do nothing but stare at me in revulsion was beyond hurtful. What had I _done_?

But he wasn't done being an asshole today. About an hour after we got back, he called me into his office.

"Miss Bennet!" he said, his accent thick as ever. "Come in here, please!"

I entered his office, making no effort to conceal my displeasure.

Like always, he didn't look at me. He simply shuffled around papers on his desk as he talked.

"Miss Bennet, I feel the need to remind you of some very important rules we have here. One of the key elements of the office relationships here which makes us such a successful firm is the strict ban on office romances. I sensed a bit of flirtation going on between my cousin and yourself and I would like you to know before you begin to harbor any feelings towards him that this is strictly forbidden. This is not a three strike policy, Miss Bennet. Mess up once, and you're out. That will be all."

I simply stood there, looking at him incredulously. It wasn't that I was dying to date Ed; it was just that Darcy was so...so...awful! Was it possible for me to hate him any more?

The answer came next day, in the form of a young man named George Wickham.

Yes. Yes, I could.


	5. Ch 4: Voldemort, Hitler, and Mr Darcy

**A/N: Hello, my lovelies! I hope you had a wonderful six days and I hope that you read this chapter and get angry with me about my bad-updating-ness because you want to read more. I hope, I hope, I hope. Thank you so, so much to those who reviewed, and also to those quiet readers, for it makes me happy to see that this story is being enjoyed (I hope, again) by so many, even if you do remain silent. On with the chapter!**

**P.S. Kind ones, I am leaving for boarding school in three small little days. Yes, I know. Anyway, between schoolwork, cross country practice, and other boarding-school festivities, my time for writing for a while will be just about nil. Forgive me for a lack of updates, and I promise that for all of you, my dearest readers, I will try my hardest to keep them coming.**

Chapter 4: Sauron, Voldemort, Hitler, and Mr. Darcy

By the time I left for work that day, I was in a very good mood. This was the result of three things that happened just before I left the office.

First, I received an email from Ed.

**From: Edmund Fitzwilliam**

**To: Charles Bingley; Fitzwilliam Darcy; Thomas Hurst; Laura Hurst; Caroline Bingley; Elizabeth Bennet**

**Sent: 2:34 PM, Thursday, August 14, 2008**

**Subject: I Dub Us Thuedaisies!**

**Hello, all.**

**Now, Will and Caroline, before you balk at the subject line (I can hear your rant now: "_you_ _go and choose_ _the most ridiculous of all possible names, no dignity, blah blah blah"_), let me make a brief announcement. I have spoken with the newest member of our little lunch club, Miss Ellie Bennet, and when I asked her whether or not she approves of my name for our group, she laughed and said "I love it!". Therefore, this brings the vote of whether or not our official name shall be "Thuedaisies" to _for: 4 (_Me, Charlie, Laura, Ellie) _/ against: 3_(Will, Caroline, Thomas). The three-month-long battle is over, and Elizabeth Bennet has restored the peace and declared me the winner. Ha. In your faces, Caroline and Cousin Dearest. Ellie owned you.**

**Secondly, I declare that Thursday's lunch shall be held at Phillipa's. Ellie, do you want to ride over with Charlie, Will, and I? I'm assuming yes, so we'll meet in your office at 11:45. All of you other people, meet us there at 12:00 like usual. Kapish?**

**Tom and Laura, you weren't at lunch today. The show went on without you, but this brings your total of absences up to 4 in the last year. Are we to assume that you are occupying yourself with, uh, rather more…entertaining?...activities during your lunch hour? Eeew, bad mental pictures, I'm going to stop now.**

**Way-ell, I think that's all for now, which is unfortunate because it means that I actually have to work, so...See you in two days, Carry (ha!) and Laurie. See you…uh…probably sometime before that Charlie, Will, Ellie, maybe Tom.**

**Cyber X's and O's,**

**Eddie**

**P.S. Will, please take your happy pills before next luncheon. The staring was getting _really_ old. Hugs!**

Then I ran into Ed just after I read it. We talked for about ten minutes and I laughed a lot.

And the last reason for my jolly mood was that I decided that I really didn't care that much about what Darcy said. I was just going to be myself and let the chips fall where they may. Screw the no-dating policy. I wasn't planning on dating Edmund anyway, and if I did, who really, honestly cared apart from my stupid boss? Sure, his opinion mattered, but I was sick and tired of trying to do the impossible: please him.

So there was a bounce to my step as I endured the stares in the elevator and found my way through the crowded lobby and onto the subway back to my apartment.

When I got home, I sat down and wrote, for the first time in a while. I wrote a hilarious little short story about a group that went to lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays and was antagonized by a man that was so unpleasant, he very nearly made life miserable for all of them.

As you may have guessed, Darcy had a starring role.

* * *

When I walked into the office the next morning, there was a silly smile plastered over my face. What a difference one day could make! I was eternally grateful to Ed for this pleasant twist in my dull, lonesome life.

I now looked forward to going to work to see everyone (excepting Darcy, of course). I looked forward to going home to write again. I went from hating my life to loving it in like five hours. Ha! Very pathetic. But still, I was happy, for once. Apparently, I didn't do well at all with the whole no-human-contact deal.

My happiness increased significantly when I entered my office to find a very, very good-looking man (and not the insufferable one that I worked with) already sitting in my computer chair.

I looked at him with a mixture of amusement and curiosity (probably with more amusement than I would have had if he was less good-looking), and raised my eyebrows at him.

"Excuse me, sir? Not that I particularly mind, the stupid thing is horrid uncomfortable, but, uh, what are you doing in my chair?"

He turned his head slowly and looked at me with a charming smile.

"Forgive me, Miss. I haven't slept since night before last—bit of a crisis last night, you see. That's why I'm here now. At 5:15. I need to see your boss."

I noticed with a well-concealed smile that he was British, also, but he had a less refined accent, more that of a commoner than royalty.

"Oh, no, it's quite all right," I said. "Mr. Darcy should be coming through that door in about five...no wait—"

The door was opening.

"Elizabeth—"Mr. Darcy said, looking very flustered and desperate. However, his eyes rested immediately upon the man, and he stopped dead. My head was instantly burning with curiosity—since when was I 'Elizabeth' to him? Wait…since when did he even _talk_ to me? And since when did he look so absolutely out-of-control? Had something happened?

"What is _he_ doing in your chair, Ellie?" Outrage, confusion, and shock crossed his features.

Oh, so I was _Ellie _now?

"Are you—?" he continued, raising his eyebrows suggestively, absolute disgust in his eyes now.

"No, no, no, Mr. Darcy," I quickly clarified. "I just came in. Mr., uh..." I looked to the man for an answer.

"Wickham," he supplied, a devilish, very attractive smile on his lips as he gazed upon an extremely angered Mr. Darcy.

"Mr. Wickham was sitting in my office chair," I finished lamely.

But Mr. Darcy was not paying attention to me, after learning that Mr. Wickham was not my guest. He was looking upon the man in my chair with such revulsion and hatred, I could only suppose that Mr. Wickham had offended him worse than _I_ had.

"Why are you here?" Mr. Darcy said, his voice a low grumble, a sound so threatening I was scared out of my wits just knowing that it could someday be directed at me.

"I think it best that we talk privately—"

"Get in my office, right now," Mr. Darcy said. "Miss Bennet, take your lunch break."

"Sir, it is _five-thirty_ in the morning—"

"Breakfast, then!"

And he followed Mr. Wickham into his office, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Half an hour later, I was sitting at Lottie's, an untouched scone in front of me and a warm cup of coffee in my hands. I was staring into space, letting myself dwell on the strange encounter I had just witnessed.

Poor Mr. Wickham! Whatever he had done, it had vexed Darcy, and that was not a fate I would wish upon my greatest enemy.

And he was so charming, and handsome, and if he didn't care for Mr. Darcy as it appeared he didn't, then he must have good judgment in people…I felt bad for him—just as I sat not-eating a delicious breakfast, he was experiencing Darcy's wrath. Perhaps I would comfort him afterwards?

No, no, bad Elizabeth. Not going to happen.

I turned to my scone on the table and thought about the more confusing matter of the split second before Mr. Darcy had seen Mr. Wickham. He had used my given name, for once, and later my nickname! And he had looked so unbearably out of control when he first opened the door.

I wondered if something tragic had happened within his family. Did he even have a family? Somehow, I couldn't picture it. The picture of my stubborn, arrogant jerk of a boss giving a baby a raspberry entered my head and I laughed quietly to myself.

"Something funny?" said a voice, startling me out of my reverie.

"Oh, no," I said with a sheepish smile, looking up to find myself gazing at the man I had found sitting in my chair not fifty minutes ago. "Well, yes. Just my imagination running away from me. Sit down," I offered. He willingly complied.

"So you survived him?" I asked jokingly, with a touch of actual concern.

"Barely," he answered with a wide smile that looked as if it could advertise tooth-whiteners.

"May I be so bold as to ask why you came to see him? It appeared as if you two knew each other."

"Yes, you may be so bold," he said, smiling again. "But it is a rather long story, I warn you."

"I have time. There are no rules in the book concerning time limits for 'breakfast breaks'."

"Alright, then. Well, yes, you are correct. Darcy and I knew—know—each other. We were childhood playmates, the best of friends. We grew up in England, often shoved together—my father was his disgustingly rich family's gardener, see, and I would always accompany him and go play with Fitzwilliam and spend time with Mr. Darcy Sr., who was a very kind soul.

"I am sad to say that his son was the opposite. You see, the elder Mr. Darcy took a liking to me, a strong liking, when I was a child. He was my father in a lot of ways. He grew to love me more, I think, that he did his own son, who was never as social and charming—" he winked "as the elder Mr. Darcy and I. When he died, God bless his soul, he left us both with money and recommendations for both Fitzwilliam and I to attend Harvard Law School, as most of their family had despite their English roots. But at the time, this held no interest for me. You see, I was very interested in spirituality and wished to further pursue that course of life. Some time ago, I asked Mr. Darcy for the money that was rightfully mine for school to aide me in this. He refused, saying that it was not going to be used for _law_ school and therefore was not mine.

"Last night, I was driving to see him to beg one more time for the money—you see, I am very poor and without a college education…so my car is not nice at all. It malfunctioned last night in the early hours and I injured someone very badly while driving on the interstate. The family of the man is choosing to sue me for money that I don't have, possibly creating a debt for me that I will never be able to repay. I came to my old friend this morning, asking, at least if he would not pay for my schooling, for him to represent me in the case.

"He would not. You see, he still hates me. He hates me because his father loved me better and he can't but breathe for all of the jealousy that surrounds every thought of me."

My. Boss. Was. Awful. I had hated Mr. Darcy's demeanor from day one. I hated the way he treated people, I hated his manners…but this…this was a new level of horrific. He was like…I couldn't find a villain bad enough to compare him to.

Sauron in _The Lord of the Rings_, perhaps? No, he had all of that business with the ring of corruption and power and all of that. Mr. Darcy didn't need a ring—he was awful enough on his own.

Voldemort, perchance? Nah, he could have been saved by remorse or something. Mr. Darcy was a human damaged beyond repair.

Hitler? Okay, maybe that was going a little far.

But still, it was the same disregard for people thought to be below him that made Darcy and Hitler similar. Darcy just didn't care about anyone excepting himself, and he thought himself to be worthy of his self-proclaimed position as the center of his universe.

Poor, poor Mr. Wickham. To be stomped upon again and again and again…and by his childhood friend, for Christ's sake!

His hand was resting on the table. I placed mine over his.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Wickham," I said.

"Please," he said with a wide grin. "Call me George."


	6. Ch 5: Exit Darcy, Enter Wickham

**A/N: It has been exactly three weeks since I last updated. Feel free to lash out at me in the reviews; I deserve it. But it actually feels as if it has been longer than that to me. When I brought up my computer's calendar to apologize to you all for my lack of updates, I expected it to have been over a month since you all last heard from me. I guess time passes slower when you are this impossibly busy…Well, anyhow, I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it, and know that it probably cost me a very-much-needed extra hour or two of sleep. ;-)**

**P.S. I know that I've been saying this a lot and you probably think that I'm full of crap, but I wanted to apologize for the length and lack of action in this chapter. Believe it or not, we're still sort of setting the scene, and therefore chapters are sometimes pretty bleak. Know that I have great things in store, coming up soon. I apologize. **

Exit Darcy, Enter Wickham, and Bennets are on in Five

When I got back into Darcy's office an hour after he had excused me for my "breakfast break", I had absolutely no idea what I was going to be facing. The expression on Darcy's face when he had looked at George was causing me to worry quite a bit about my own fate, for I was going to be working with Darcy for the rest of the day.

Would he still be furious? Would he be full of hatred and passion as he was at first when he saw Wickham? Or would he be the same aloof, apathetic Darcy that I had come to know?

I was anxious, and very nervous, I might add, to find out.

However, what I wasn't expecting was for him to not be there at all. When I got back, the offices were utterly vacant. I didn't know what to do. It was 6:15; the rest of the staff was not yet there.

It was a little eerie, the firm, with the odd shadows from the rising sun and not a person in sight. After half an hour of mindless, unneeded tidying (apparently Darcy hadn't got around to my sticky notes for the day before his departure), I resolved to call him and ask him where he was.

I didn't think that he would be very happy about being interrupted, wherever he was, but I had done my fair share of waiting around for him, and I was kind of done catering to his every need. After the last month I had endured, I deserved at least an ounce of respect.

Our conversation went something like this:

"Hello. Mr. Darcy?"

"Miss Bennet."

"Sir, I was just wondering, um, where you were."

"I've gone to visit my sister."

Silence. This was unexpected. I didn't even know that he had a sister.

"Ooookkkaayyy. Where does she live? Do you need me to send a car?"

"She does not live in the city. I'm on a plane right now."

"You're on a plane? But sir, you were here not half an hour ago. How—?"

"Not a commercial plane, Miss Bennet. My own jet."

Ha. His own jet. Figures. Asshole.

"Well…when will you be back? What should I do in the mean time?"

"I do not know when I will be back. As for you…I'll leave you under the direction of Edmun—or no, I think it'll be Charlie. Report to him at 7:30."

"Okay," I said, my spirits now high as I realized that I would be spending the day with Charlie, a man who actually had the ability to smile, and only slightly lessened by the fact that Asshole Darcy didn't trust me to work with Ed.

"See you in…well, a while, or something," I said.

"Goodbye, Elizabeth."

God, I hated how unvelievably beautiful my name sounded in his voice.

Damn the British.

* * *

It was a very good day. Working with Charlie was…well, it was _fun_. While I was doing stuff, he joked with me, went on and on about the sister that I hadn't talked to for a week and a half, and ordered smoothies for us. There were no mind games, endless silences, or sticky notes. We could actually interact pleasantly, and still get stuff done. What a concept.

Then, when I got home, I wrote. I wrote another short story that was actually really, really good, and also got a notice that another one of my stories was going to be published in a fiction magazine.

And then there was George. About two hours after I got home, I received a text from him.

_r u free frm darcys torture chamber yet? _

I had never really gotten into texting, having always considered myself as just missing the texting generation. But I had to admit, texting George was fun. Exciting. It made me jittery and giddy, made me feel like I was about ten years younger than I was.

_yes. hes actually gone for a while, i guess…i got to work with someone else today_

I sat and waited anxiously for my phone to buzz, knowing as I did it how lame it was. I couldn't help myself.

_sweet. u busy 2morow?_

Cue increased heart rate.

_nope. y?_

I sat and waited. Had it really only been thirty seconds since the message was sent? It felt like thirty years.

_u wanna go to dinner?_

_wat time?_

_7._

_c u then _

And so began my relationship with George Thomas Wickham.

* * *

The one thing that was constantly bothering me, perpetually in the back of my mind, was worry for my sister Jane. I had not spoken a word to her in 10 days.

I had never, ever, in my entire life, gone that long without talking to her. When she went to the two-week-long Wilderness Camp in the seventh grade, she got homesick after the three days and was allowed to drive down the mountain with the camp leaders and call me every other night before bedtime. She was always so loyal, as dependent on me as I was on her despite her being the motherly one.

Jane was not one to get consumed by a relationship. She was very sensible, far more than myself, usually.

And she was always the one that made sure that we were still as close as ever. When we got in fights, she was the first one to apologize. Always. When we were separated and hadn't talked to each other in a while, she was the first one to call.

I didn't understand her absence now. I hated it. And I really, really hated that _Charlie_ had to tell _me_ that she was okay. This was not how things were supposed to be.

I was very worried about her.

I would talk to her, I decided, no matter how much she tried to evade me, the next day. She didn't have a choice.

* * *

The next day at work, my mother called me. Usually, with Darcy, this would have embarrassed me to no end—it was easy for any spectators to hear her shrill voice no matter where they were in the room.

But this was Charlie. He was totally cool, totally relaxed, and had probably heard about my mother from Jane. I found myself actually not flinching away from the phone.

"Hey Mom," I said.

"Elizabeth! Where have you been? You haven't called me in a week, not you or Jane. I don't think you really appreciate what it's like to have kids living away from home, Ellie. It's so hard with you so far away, and then you don't even have the time of day to call me! Really, I would think that I deserve better—I only raised you for your entire life—"

"Sorry Mom," I interrupted her. "It's been busy. You know, with the job and stuff."

"Humph," she said. "You must make time for your family, Elizabeth Bennet. You act so non—"

"Guess what, Mom?" I said, deciding to take evasive action. "I've got a date tonight."

"You do! Is he handsome?"

"Decidedly yes."

"Oooh!" came my mother's excited squeal.

She was kept appeased by me confiding in her about George. She grasped onto every detail of the love lives of my sisters and me. Her days were over, so she lived vicariously through us. When we were finished gushing, she got to the real reason why she called.

"Well anyhow, dearie, I was calling to remind you that Thanksgiving is coming up. Have you and Jane bought your plane tickets?"

I looked at the calendar. There weren't even two months until I was forced to spend ten consecutive days with my family.

This might not seem so bad, seeing as I grew up with them all, but I was out of practice. Just this phone call was draining me of all my energy. It looked as if I'd be spending lots of time with Dad in his study.

After ten minutes of Thanksgiving plans and her lecturing me on how I was wearing my hair these days, I decided to cut her off.

"Well, Mom, I've got to run," I said.

"Love you," she said.

"Love you too, Mom," I responded.

"See you soon," she said.

"Can't wait," I replied.

"Goodbye, I guess."

"Bye, Mom—"

"Oh, wait, I almost forgot! You know, if this doesn't work out with George, I have someone to set you up with when you get back home."

"What's his name?"

"Uh, William Collins, I think? I don't really know him; you'll meet him when you get here."

"Okay, Mom. See you soon."

"See you. I'm so excited for Thanksgiving! It'll be a blast, you know, I have so many--"

"Yep, I'm psyched. See you in two months."

"Two months! Alright, Dearie, say hello to Jane, and I love you."

"Bye, Mom."

"Oh, I almost--"

I hung up and sighed. I had two months to prepare myself for the visit. And it would be really great to see my Dad.

If I could only figure out what was up with my sister, life would be wonderful.


	7. Ch 6: WTF, Jane?

**A/N: I'm sure that you're getting tired of my apologies, but this time, I really have to. It's been soooo long, I know. It's just school and sports and plays and and computers and elections and other stories get in the way, you know? Well, to make up for it, I'll tell you that the story starts to get juicy pretty soon, and hopefully I can increase the updates in frequency, since Cross Country is now over. I just can't make any promises. I'm sorry. I love you all; thanks for reading.**

**WARNING: In this chapter, there is a little bit more profanity and discussion of some, uh...delicate topics. I don't think it's too over-the-top, but just be aware. Example: The title. **

Chapter 6 - WTF, Jane?

There is no easy way to say this. Trust me, I know. I've tried and tried to find one. But it just doesn't exist. It's best to lie about this subject when it comes up, or, if that doesn't feel right, be very blunt.

I'm opting for the second, today, so bear with me.

I have never, in my entire life, had sex.

Okay. Done. You heard it—you're looking at me incredulously now. I know, I know.

I am willing to bet a lot of money that, among the demographic of over 22, mildly attractive, not overly-religious women in New York (actually, probably the US), I am the only one who has never had sex.

It's not that the opportunity has never risen—trust me, it _has_. It's also not that I'm really strongly opposed to sex before marriage, either—my parents were not overly religious, and I'm not either.

And my family is actually pretty promiscuous—my mother, I'm sure, had her way with every available male (and those not available, also) in the small town in which she grew up. I'm quite sure that my father was the same way, as are Liddy and Kate and, actually, sort of Mary (whoever she can get). Even Jane, I know, has had her share of experience.

My own, uh, chastity, has most to do with the way my father raised me, I think. It's not that he raised me to be "pure", or anything—we have never had anything remotely close to The Talk. It's more that he raised me to have a certain value in myself. He treated me like someone whose presence was a gift, whose love was a treasure.

And because of this, I always find myself shaking my head when Billy or Robby or Tom or Frank start to take off the bottom layers. It's never a conscious decision—never has been. It just hasn't felt right. It feels...vulgar, I guess is the word.

I don't do the whole one-night stand thing. That's just weird, to me. It's like the ultimate closeness with someone whose name you won't remember. I just don't like it.

And I've always known, with everyone that I've dated, that we would not be together for very long. I've liked all of them, don't get me wrong—I don't often date slime balls. It's just that I'm a realist, and when the way Johnny always picks his food out of his teeth starts to annoy me on the second date, I know that we'll last six months, tops. So when, on the seventh (if he's a gentleman), or third (if he's not) date, he starts hinting towards a desire to…you know, I just think ahead to the next three months when I'll regret doing it and tell him no.

And also, the longer and longer I've waited, it starts to feel like both something more important and more embarrassing. It's more important because I have waited, you know, this long, so it seems like the one I choose should be pretty special. And then it's more embarrassing because, well, again, I have waited for this long. So the guy needs to be good enough to understand why and not think lesser of me for it.

So why, you ask, have I launched into this long and awkward rant about my lack of deflowering?

Well, because it's been a topic of, uh, consideration or me in the past few months.

Because I think I might have found the guy good enough to be, you know…the One.

Because my heart beats a lot faster every time I look into his eyes, and for the first time in my life, I really _want_ to…you know.

Because he wants to, also. I can tell.

Because I really, really, _really_ like George Wickham.

* * *

I walked into the office at 7:00 one morning (the extra sleep was, believe it or not, a minor perk compared to my Darcy-less workdays) to find, yet again, my employer missing.

I walked back out to the Reception area.

"Is Mr. Bingley here?" I asked the woman at the desk.

"Oh, you didn't hear?" she said. "Mr. Bingley has travelled to England. Mr. Darcy has returned. You'll be working for him again."

Oh, joy. I could hear the Hallelujah chorus blaring in my head.

* * *

There was a memo on my desk.

_Elizabeth,_

_I'll be gone in a meeting all day, but I'd like you to meet me in my office at 5:30 tomorrow morning. Today you'll have the day off._

_Fitzwilliam_

* * *

Getting the day off left me with a whole lot of time to think. About Jane.

It was time for intervention. To anyone else, she would seem normal, I was sure. But to me, the difference in her persona was like Shakespeare and Rowling. Her words were sparse; she never once asked about my day. We hadn't really, truly talked in months. Since Charlie. When I tried, she left or changed the subject. Her eyes were downcast when she walked; strangely, she locked her bedroom door. She wasn't home a lot; she rarely went grocery shopping. If I didn't know him so well, I would say that there was something weird with Charlie.

I skipped out on working on the novel I was writing to write some poetry—something that I rarely did. I ordered in, watched TV, and waited for Jane.

She never came home. I went to bed at 9:00 to be well rested for my meeting tomorrow morning.

And I resolved, if Jane was not home tomorrow, to intervene. In a very bold, Elizabeth-like way that I didn't think she was going to like.

* * *

I was awakened at 12:30 by the sound of a door opening and closing. So Jane was back. I lied there for a while, wondering where she had been. She wasn't with Charlie, because he was in England right now.

I was shocked to hear tiny sobs coming through the wall of her room.

It was a natural reaction for me to comfort her, and I didn't fight it. I didn't care what was happening between us—Janey _needed_ someone.

Her door was open. She was lying on the bed, fully clothed. I walked over and sat behind her. She sat up and looked up at me, her crying becoming more intense. I pushed the hair out of her face.

"Oh Elizabeth," she sobbed.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry," She said. I held her as she cried.

"I'm sorry," she repeated every once in a while against my shoulder as we sat there. Finally, she drew back.

"I've been so bad to you, Ellie. I've been so horrible. I'm so sorry. I was just so ashamed! I know I'm like Mom and Liddy and Kate. I know. You don't have to tell me that."

"Jane, just—"

"I wanted to prepare a way to tell you all gracefully so you wouldn't think me such a horrible, irresponsible person. I wanted to, but then Charlie left and I would be just fine right now, Ellie, just fine, I promise, if I hadn't just talked to _him_. Oh, he makes me so angry! Your boss is awful, Ellie. Just awful. I can't believe he made Charlie leave! And then to tell me that he would help me with expenses! Oh, Ellie, I can see why you complain. He's awful. Just horrible."

"Jane, slow down! I don't think you're a horrible person. No matter what you did, I won't, I promise! Just tell me what is going on!"

"Okay. But first, really, you really must know that Charlie is an amazing person. I love him, Ellie, really I do. Don't think badly of him. Please?"

"I know he's not horrible, Janey. I work with him every day! Did you even _know_ that?"

"Of course I _know_ that, Ellie, that's what I first talked to him about! He gave me a business card and I told him my sister was interviewing there. We talk about you all the time. Did I not tell you that I was dating your colleague?"

"No."

"Oh. I'm so sorry, Ellie. So sorry. I know you must have felt-"

"Goddamnit, Jane, would you just tell me what the hell is going on?"

Jane sighed. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Charlie left. For good. He's going to work in England now. Darcy sent him off to work at a firm in London. Don't ask me how he did it, but Darcy knows and he said all this B.S. about helping me with expenses."

"Oh, Ellie. It's just really, really bad that Charlie left. Because…" she looked down, and when she looked up her eyes were ashamed. Her face was pleading, as if asking me to please, please understand.

"I'm pregnant."


	8. Ch 7: EB, Upper East Side Prostitute

**A/N: Hey guys, good to see you. Sorry for not updating, etc., etc. I hope that all of you are doing wonderfully and that, should you live in the United States, you are having a wonderful day with family and friends (and food!). Happy Thanksgiving and Enjoy!!! **

**Oh, and also a warning: this chapter contains some mature content. It's probably slightly worse than the last in that respect. There's nothing, I don't think, to offend most, but just a warning if you're sensitive to that kind of thing: exercise caution. Again, i.e.: title. **

Chapter 7: Elizabeth Bennet, Upper-East Side Prostitute

I blinked. Once. Twice. A third time.

"Okay," I said lamely.

Whoa. Whoa whoa whoa. Janey. My Janey. Pregnant?

Whoa. With a baby?

This was…not what I expected.

Jane was not a children-before-marriage kind of girl. I mean, statistically, her chances of getting knocked up by her boyfriend were the same as everyone else's, but she just…wasn't that girl.

Janey was the girl that gone married at 25 and became Jane Smith, had a little boy at 27 and a girl at 29 and lived happily ever after. She was the attractive but conservative young mother that drove her daughter to soccer practice every day and flew across the country to decorate her son's college dorm room and get him situated.

She wasn't the girl that you saw at Abortion Clinics, or putting her child in day care so that she could work all day.

A fresh sob triggered by my lack of response filled the room, and it snapped me out of my reverie. Instantly, this was an accepted truth.

"It'll be okay, Jane, I promise. There's nothing to be ashamed of. This is a blessing! You're such a natural mother, I'm sure you'll have an amazing child. Really, Jane. I promise that this will be good," I said as I rubbed soothing circles on her back. I could go from incredulous to good sister in one and a half seconds. I had a lot of practice. "We'll make it good, I swear. Now what are we going to do?"

"Well, tomorrow I'm going to spend the whole day in bed—"

"No-can-do, honey. We fly out tomorrow, remember? It's Thanksgiving."

And, for the first (and probably last time) in my life, I heard a broken, still-crying Jane (who, I saw now that she had her white tank-top pajama top on, had a small baby bump), insult our family.

"Tomorrow? Tomorrow I have to deal with Mom and Liddy? Oh, Lord help me," she said with a sigh, staring off into space.

It took every ounce of self control I possessed, in addition to some of my reserve stores for sisterly moments such as this, not to laugh.

An hour later, the clock read 1:30. Janey and I were lying on her bed, exhausted from crying and baby talking and stressing. I could tell that she was on the verge of sleep and very much needed to rest, but there was something that really I had to ask.

"Jane?" I whispered.

"Yeah?" she groggily replied.

"What role, exactly, does Mr. Darcy play in all of this?"

"He's so horrible, Elizabeth," she said. "He sent Charles away. He called me into his office at 11:30—11:30 _P.M_, Ellie—to tell me what he had done. Then he questioned me about the most random, idiotic stuff. And he told me, and I could swear he had this awful shadow of a smirk on his face, that he would help me with medical expenses and stuff when the time comes. I hate him so much. He's the most awful, proud, mean person I've ever had the misfortune to…"

A scene from months earlier replayed itself in my mind.

"_Wow," Jane muttered. "He is pretty horrible…"_

_I laughed. "Oh, Janey. Only from you would 'pretty horrible' be enough to describe Mr. Darcy, but from you that's pretty much as bad as it gets, so I guess I'll deal."_

I could feel flames of hatred licking my insides, begging for me to move away from this bed, or to move, to go somewhere, to fix something or to break something.

"Hey Jane," I said.

"What, Ellie?"

"Do you think he's still in his office?"

* * *

The night guards at the Empire State had the most curious reaction as I bade them to please allow me inside. They exchanged ridiculous little smirks.

"Yeah, sure," one said with a laugh. "Go right on up."

"Have fun!" the other called.

It wasn't until I was in the elevator that I realized the reason behind their strange reactions.

I had only had time to kiss Jane on the head and grab my stylish black trench coat and heels, still by the door from today, before I ran down our Apartment stairs.

I was asking for entrance to the Empire State Building at two in the morning with disheveled hair, a black trench coat buttoned up to hide my tank top and boxer shorts, and heels.

They thought I was a whore. Like, literally.

I laughed for about two seconds, worried about the return trip downstairs for two more, and recovered my state of absolute fury in the next.

* * *

As I made my way to Darcy's office, I took a second to wonder what I would do when I got there. I had hoped that he would still be there, but chances were it would be empty. It was only three hours until we were supposed to meet each other, after all. I didn't know what I was doing here—I was being stupid. I was just so angry. I couldn't have waited it out in my apartment for four hours. Maybe I would do something awful, like mess up his computer or his case files.

I entered my own office. I took off my heels and unbuttoned by coat, but left it on because it was cold. Darcy's office looked to be empty.

Slowly, I walked over and opened the door.

It wasn't empty. There was a person silhouetted against the window on the far wall.

I felt something jump inside of me, and I was pretty sure it was fury. I was ready to attack.

The figure turned quickly at the sound of the door opening. I couldn't see his face until he walked briskly towards me, so that I could see his stunning blue eyes.

"I think you know why I'm here," I said with what was supposed to have been fury.

To my horror, it came out wobbly, weak. Because I was looking into his damn eyes. And they were smoldering. With…what was that? Longing? Hope?

There was an awkward silence.

And then those eyes were coming closer, and with every inch my heartbeat quickened, and what was he doing? And then I could see his eyelashes, and could I normally see his eyelashes? And he was very, very close to me. And, and—

And his lips touched mine, briefly, questioningly. They were soft, moist but not wet. Mine reached out to touch his again without any conscious direction by my brain.

And then his demeanor changed, and there was nothing questioning about him at all. He was hungry. His hands came up to cradle my face, and our lips were moving together and then our tongues were moving together. And I discovered that I was hungry, too—I needed him, needed him to continue, to be just a little bit closer...

His hands moved to my hair and then my waist, pulling our bodies closer together. He pressed against me, and I could do nothing at all but fervently wish that he wouldn't stop, that he would continue, that he would get just that much closer…

And then he was kissing my neck, and I could have died. His hands were on my thighs, but not to journey up my short cotton pajama bottoms—he was trying to pick me up, because we weren't close enough yet.

I complied willingly, hitching my legs around his waist, wanting nothing more than him. Everything that he could give me I would take. Our lips didn't break contact as he walked over and pushed me against the wall, our bodies touching in every possible place.

His hands were down at the edge of my shirt, pulling up. All that I could think was _this, right here, right now, it's going to happen, it's going to…_

And then he stopped, looking as if it was paining him to do so.

"No," he said, a bit out of breath, his voice husky. "This wasn't supposed to happen this way—I had it all planned! I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…" he laughed a little. "I just can't seem to control myself very well when I'm around you. Elizabeth, I—"

He said my name in that British accent and in a second, I snapped out of it. I was reminded of all of those _Miss Bennets_ when my arrogant, jerk-wad boss would not meet my eyes to talk to me. And I was reminded of the one other time that he had called me by my given name, which reminded me of Wickham. And Wickham reminded me of sex which reminded me of babies which reminded me of Jane…

It took me half a second to come to my senses and realize where, exactly, I was.

I was in my asshole boss's arms, my legs around his waist, his arms holding my back as I leaned precariously backwards to slap his face with as much strength as I could muster. He tightened his grip on my back so I wouldn't fall, and I looked at his face: disheveled hair, a red hand mark on his right cheek, frighteningly attractive.

I would have laughed—Mr. Darcy had had to move his hands to support me better so that I could lean back and slap him, and if that wasn't humor I didn't know what was—except in that moment, I didn't find anything about our situation humorous at all.

In fact, quite the contrary.

I was furious. Livid. Horrified.

I hated Mr. Darcy, the world, Mr. Bingley, myself…

I hated everything.

But mostly Mr. Darcy.

And so I started to yell…

* * *

**ANOTHER A/N: Okay, guys. That was a...big moment, to say the least, and it certainly foreshadows even _bigger_ moments to come...(sorry for the cliffie, by the way). But anyhow, I think you all know what's coming next and I really want to know how you think I've handled this very enormous turning point in the story so far so that I can live up to expectations on the next part. I don't like asking for reviews, and I'm not doing that here. All I'm saying here is don't be afraid of constructive criticism. I want to know how I'm doing, guys. **

**But just a "Great job! Continue!" works okay, too. :) Thanks for all of your wonderful reviews, everyone. They make my day. Whenever I sit down to write a new chapter, I go through and read all of them. In total honesty, your reviews are what motivate me to write. Many, many thanks. **


	9. Ch 8: See Chapter 1, Paragraph 18

**A/N: It's been a while, friends (cue your heavy sigh and 'what else is new', I know). For those of you that haven't read Mr. Darcy's Mistake, I'll make my excuse again here: my computer crashed. Sad but true. I didn't get it fixed until very recently. And do you know what I did for all of you, loyal readers? I updated _on a schoold day_. When I had a _lot_ of homework. Aren't I nice? :)**

**Do you know why I did it, readers? Because I was still high off of the reviews you all sent to me last chapter. It got almost _twice_ the amount of reviews I had gotten for any other chapter!!! I know!!! I was excited, too!!!! **

**So I will take a moment, lovelies, to offer my deepest and most sincere thanks. Really and truly. Your reviews keep me writing. I look to them for motivation, inspiration, and confidence. I cannot express my gratitude towards all of you. Thank you. **

Chapter 8 - See Chapter 1, Paragraph 18

"I guess I deserved that," Mr. Darcy said after my hand made contact with his face.

He put me down gently, looking properly sheepish but for the happy smirk he couldn't seem to wipe off his face.

"How could you even think—" I started, angrier than I could ever remember being.

"Elizabeth, please. Let me explain."

"Explain how you could think it okay to kiss me—assault me, for heaven's sake—after the way you've treated me for all of these months?"

This made him mad. "Hey," he said. "First off, _you_ kissed _me_. And forgive me for saying so, but you weren't exactly discouraging me."

My face was redder than my mother's special occasion lipstick. He calmed.

"Really, Ellie, you mustn't blame me for the way I reacted. You don't know how long I've waited to be with you, not just physically…to tell you that I love you. Really, I—"

"What? What did you just say?" I yelled. Did he just say he loved me? I slap him across the face and he still thinks that he's going to be getting a lap dance tonight? Was he joking?

"Elizabeth, listen to me, please. I love you. I tried to deny it for so long, sure that I couldn't have fallen for my _secretary_, of all people…but I couldn't. My feelings for you refuse to be moderated in any way. I love you…most ardently."

I couldn't believe him. He used the love plea to get me into his pants and he couldn't even be smooth about it? I was disgusted.

"Okay, Mr. Darcy," he frowned at my calling him this. "Here's the plan. I'll go sleep with you, be the whore that the guards were expecting downstairs. I'll fall passionately in love with you, you'll get me pregnant, and then you can break my heart and fly to London, leaving me alone and carrying your child. But that'll be okay, because you'll cover expenses. How does that sound?"

It was silent. I was only feeding my own anger by mentionig Jane.

"Elizabeth, I…" Mr. Darcy said quietly.

I was on a roll, now.

"Oh wait, you're right! There's a flaw in the plan. I would never, ever fall in love with someone as disgusting and despicable as yourself! Have you forgotten these past few months, when you treated me like a piece of gum on your shoe? _Miss Bennett, I'm sorry, but I cannot trouble myself to speak to you and must make things as difficult for you as I possibly can. I must also be an asshole. And I like to stare_," I mocked in his British accent. "I'm an inferior being, aren't I? You can't even _believe_ that you fell for your _secretary, of all people!_" I mocked again. "Well, I guess you've woken up to smell the coffee, Darcy. Secretaries can have good asses too. It's those high heels we wear, you see."

I was breathing hard. My chest was heaving, but I wasn't done.

"But I'm being petty by complaining about the way you've treated _me_. You cut George out of your father's will because he just wasn't good enough to be worth your father's money and care. And then you won't even save him from bankruptcy and jail while representing him in his case! You are too high and mighty for that sort of thing! You condemn a man to life of poverty when helping him would be nothing but a drop out of your bucket, a step out of your way. He works harder than you can comprehend for what little he has, and then you watch as he is sent to jail?"

Mr. Darcy was looking down at the floor, but when I began to speak of Wickham he had looked up with fire in his eyes. It only made me shout louder.

"And Jane! You know what you've done to her, you despicable man. Do you want to hear about what I left at home to come here? I left my sister, crying on her bed, her face red and her stomach just beginning to show. She was heartbroken that Charles had left her and his own child. She couldn't believe it, couldn't think straight, couldn't function. My dear, sweet sister Jane…did you know that the two meanest things I ever heard her say were tonight? First, she groaned momentarily about having to deal with my crazy mother tomorrow…my mother drives everyone to madness and Jane has never once expressed anything but compassion for her.

"And do you want to know the meanest thing Jane ever said in her life, Darcy? She called you 'horrible'. Horrible for what you did to her.

"I suppose you thought that I would fall at your feet. You thought that, didn't you? How could I not? Well guess what? Were you and I the last two people on Earth, I would shoot you and end the human race, glad for a lack of police to lock me away. I couldn't love you, not ever. I couldn't forgive what you did to George, couldn't forgive what you did to Jane. I couldn't forgive that you seem to be missing a heart; I couldn't forgive your pride. Mr. Darcy, make this known to yourself: I will never, ever, not at the end of this world or at the start of another, love you."

It was silent for a very long time, the only sound that of my heavy breathing. Mr. Darcy was looking at the floor.

When he finally looked up at me, his eyes filled with…sadness? Desperation?

Good. Maybe I finally got through to him.

"Stay away from Wickham," he said softly, almost kindly. "He's only with you to get to me. Just trust me on this. I know that you think me repulsive, and I understand if you wish to eradicate me from your memory. But please, remember this: he is not the man you think he is."

His eyes were kind; mine were wide.

"I wish you the very best, Miss Bennett. Goodbye."

And then he walked past me, and, very suddenly, he was gone.

* * *

They say that New York never sleeps.

But it does. From about 3:30-4:30 in the morning, things are quiet. Usually, nobody is out on the streets.

And during the city's hour of rest, I wandered slowly through the streets, making my way back down to my apartment. I knew it was dangerous. I didn't care.

In my mind, it was a victory walk. Finally, I had put him in his place. You know those times in life when everything that you ever wanted to say to someone threatens to explode out of you, but it never does?

Yeah, well. It just _did_.

I was proud of myself. And let me tell you: when you do speak your mind about something, and the object of your scrutiny looks so affected, it's pretty remarkable.

Maybe he would change.

I hoped he would.

I was glad that I had said what I did; I felt like I had won a war, and I was on the side of good.

But I couldn't keep at bay intense feelings of guilt and sadness. His eyes, so expressive, had held so much pain, and they haunted my thoughts. I had to keep reminding myself that he deserved what he got.

But the sadness and overwhelming guilt remained, and on my victory walk back to my apartment, I stared only at the sidewalk beneath my feet.

* * *

Packing was, to say the least, an ordeal. The world was dreary, the sky outside a light grey, and it begged me to sleep. It didn't help that all I could think about was Darcy, and also what he said about Wickham. Was it possible that he was telling the truth? Even if he was, it was the truth from his point of view, and it wasn't like I held a great amount of respect for his character-judging skills. I didn't want to think about it. I wanted to sleep.

Our flight was late so that I could go to work one last day, but obviously that wasn't relevant now. Janey and I spent the morning getting ready to leave. Not much was said.

I just _really_ wanted to sleep.

At 11:30, right before Janey and I were going to leave to complete some last-minute errands, the doorbell rang.

"George!" I exclaimed, literally falling into his arms. "I can't even begin to tell you how good it is to see you."

He kissed my forehead. "I thought maybe we could spend a little time together before you left."

"Oh, I can't! I'm sorry! That's so sweet of you, but Janey and I have about an hour's worth of errands that we have to get done. We were just heading out the door."

"Your flight leaves at 4:30, right? How about I wait for you to get back and then we can hang out while you pack? I'll just chill here, if it's cool with you."

"Yeah, sure," I said. "That'd be great."

When I returned an hour later, George was on the couch, watching T.V. I just looked at him for a second before entering the living room.

I had not forgotten Darcy's warning. I trusted my own judgement, of course, but he had seemed very sincere.

I didn't know what to think, and I needed George right now. I walked in the living room.

"Come here, baby," he said to me, holding his arms out. I probably would have objected to the term 'baby' if I had had the energy.

We started kissing. Intensely.

But for some strange reason, I couldn't quite get into it.

_Kissing Darcy was better_, a voice in my mind whispered.

_Be quiet_, I told it firmly.

"What's wrong, Ellie?" George asked, sensing that I wasn't into it.

"Nothing. I'm just tired. And I'm stressed and not looking forward to seeing my family."

"But I want you to be happy," he said.

"That's why I have a surprise for you," he whispered into my ear.

"What?" I asked, curious now.

"I think it's about time that I met your parents, don't you?"

"You're coming with me?!?" my voice sounded excited.

And I was! I mean, I would have been. Should have been. The day before I would have been ecstatic. I wouldn't have even cared that, for some strange reason, he hadn't told me he wanted to come until the hour before we left. George coming meant that a week that would have been hellish was something to be looked forward to, and it meant that he thought that we were serious.

But right just then, all that I could concentrate on was that voice, in my head, repeating over and over words spoken in a velvety voice, not commanding for once but soft, with a strong British accent:

"_He is not the man that you think he is."_

_Shut up_!, I told the voice.

It didn't listen.

* * *

Several hours later, I was sitting next to George, looking out the window as the plane took off.

I had wondered all day if I would hear from Darcy, if he would try and apologize or explain or anything. I had kind of wanted him to.

But his window was gone. I was to be away in Meryton for a while, spending time with my family and the man that I loved.

And I didn't care about Darcy.

I was going to take his suggestion and forget about him.

I would sort out what he had said about George later.

Right then, I was going to take a nap.

* * *

_"Mama!" said a small girl with striking blue eyes and curly dark hair. She was running in the grass in the backyard of a beautiful brick house. "Come play with us!" _

_"Yeah, Mom! Come on" said her brother, about a year older with the same blue eyes. They were playing with a ball, but as I heard the sound of a screen door open, they suddenly stopped._

_"Daddy!" shrieked the little girl as she started running towards the house._

_"Daddy! Daddy's home!" yelled the little boy. _

_I turned around, and as I saw him, my heart felt warm. He was standing there, looking unbearably handsome as he picked up his little girl. His eyes met mine, and I smiled, feeling utter bliss overwhelm me--_

**Bing!**

"Please fasten your seatbelts, put away all electronics and make sure that your tray tables are locked and your seat is in its upright position. We are beginning our descent into Des Moines."

Where the hell did that come from?


	10. Ch 9: Liar, Liar, George on Fire

**A/N: Hello, dearest readers. I'm updating!!! And guess what? It hasn't even been _10 days_ since you got Chapter 8!!! Granted, Chapter 9 is very short and rather uneventful, but it is an update, no??? Thanks so much for your lovely reviews; you know how much they mean to me. You guys have been performing so well on the whole review-front, lately! You put ginormous smiles on my face that drove me to update uber-quick (ten days. ten days!), even if all I had time for was 1,500 words. So thank you, thank you, thank you, and I hope that you enjoy the craaaazy Bennet clan.**

Chapter 9 - Liar, Liar, George on Fire (cuz he's hot w/ 2 t's!!!!)

My parents' names are Bettie and Benjamin Bennet.

In case you are wondering, yes, we are all fully aware of the ridiculousness of this unfortunate situation.

However, a bit of bad luck and a bit more bad judgment on the part of my grandparents stuck my poor caretakers with the names. The situation is unavoidable—the only nicknames for Benjamin are Ben and Bennie, which are both much worse, and my mother's full name is Bettie.

To save at least a little bit of their dignity, my father tried to convince my mother to keep her maiden name when they were married. But my mother wouldn't have it. Born Bettie Gonzaretti, she claimed that alliteration was better than rhyming any day.

So Bettie and Benjamin Bennet they became.

They vowed keep the letter "B" far away from the names of their poor children. But when my paternal grandmother Elizabeth died on the day of my birth, my father was resolute that he would name his child after his mother. My mother was horrified—Betsy, Beth, Bettie, Bessie—and only agreed to the name with the stipulation that I would always be called "Ellie". Lizzy was too close to Elizabeth, and she feared that "Lizzy" would bring along "Lizbeth", which could lead, maybe, to "Beth".

When I was five, my father lost all semblance of respect for my mother and started calling me "Bessie", just to spite her. To spite him back, she began calling him "Bennie".

The reason I tell you this is that it is crucial towards understanding the interaction with my parents when I got off the plane.

"Bessie!" my father called, walking eagerly forward to hug me.

"Bennie," my mother cautioned, her voice low and supposedly intimidating as she embraced Jane. Eighteen years had not softened the blow of hearing her ridiculous husband call her poor daughter "Bessie".

"Bettie," my father responded, jokingly.

"Bennie, Bettie, and Bessie Bennet. _What_ all of these people must think. Oh, somebody shoot me!" proclaimed Bettie dramatically, her shrill voice making everybody look up from their Meryton Gazette.

"Gladly," muttered Mary under her breath.

"Mummy, May-May just said that she would be happy to shoot you," Lydia chimed in with her annoyingly-fake voice, blowing a large pink bubble which popped and got in her almost-white, bleached-blonde hair.

"Mary Cecilia Bennet! How dare you say something like that? No respect for the mother that raised you, loved you, put clothes on your back and food on your—"

"My darling wife, may I take this opportunity to remind you that you still have not properly greeted your two precious daughters?"

It was going to be a long week.

* * *

"And who is this young man?" my Mom asked when she noticed that George was standing awkwardly to the side. "Isn't he handsome? Is this Charles, Janey?"

Jane looked down. I ached to go and give her a hug, but wisely stayed where I was.

"No actually, Ma'am, I'm George Wickham, Elizabeth's beau. Pleased to meet you," he said, his looks and accent melting my mother's heart. And mine, too, a bit, I suppose, although I still was having my reservations about him because of what Darcy had said.

"My Ellie-Belly brought a boy home to meet me! Finally! Well it's about time! And a handsome one, too!"

George laughed good-naturedly. I was glad—he seemed to be handling my mother very well indeed. Not many could claim such a thing.

"Oh, I don't know about that, Mrs. Bennet," he said smoothly.

"Oh, I'm Bettie to you, George."

"Elle-Elle, you picked good!" Lydia said to me, too loudly, her habit of repeating the first syllable of a person's name already grating on my nerves.

"Yeah, Elle-Elle, he's hot with two T's. He's like, on fire. I soooo approve," Katie said. She had adopted Lydia's system of naming acquaintances, but it always sounded awkward on her tongue, instead of just plain annoying like it was with Liddy.

"Joe-Joe, you just _have_ to let me show you my Sissy's baby pics!" Lydia said to George, shoving her D-cups in his face. "It's tradition with all of her guys. Though I suppose when she wants to get hitched we'll have to stop, cuz it always scares them off! LOL!"

Ick. Another annoying habit of Lydia's—speaking like she was texting someone. I suppose that she was so often doing both at the same time, they blended together in her mind.

George looked mildly shocked. But not as shocked, I thought, as he should have been, which I suppose had something to do with her gigantic breasts. I tried to imagine Darcy's face if he was in George's position and laughed out loud. Jane looked at me curiously.

"How's my Bessie been?" my father asked me quietly, looking at the circles under my eyes with worry.

"Fine," I responded.

"Just fine?" he questioned.

"Yes. Only fine," I said. "Nothing more or less."

"Well we'll have to remedy that, my dear, won't we?"

* * *

It was as we were picking up our bags, getting ready to make our way to the car, that it happened.

"Jay-Jay, I haven't hugged you yet," Lydia said. Jane embraced Lydia for two second before—

" JAY-JAY! Are you _KNOCKED UP_??? OH. EM. GEE."

"Of course she's not, Liddy," my Mom whispered, making her voice about as loud as a normal person's when they were talking regularly. "I told you, she's faking it so that Charlie will hurry up and marry her."

"_What_?" Jane said, completely bewildered.

"They won't tell Charles, dear. You can be open with your family. And can I just say, Janey dearest, that you are absolutely brilliant. I didn't think that you had it in you, but I guess—"

"Mother, I am _not_ fa—"

"Sweetheart, I obviously understand why you had to keep cover when you and Charles called to tell me the good news, but kindly drop the charade around me. You already know that I approve."

"Jay-Jay! Sweet move! You're a clever thang! Mom's right, I didn't think you were up to it. Guess I was wrong! And Elle-Elle, snagging Joe-Joe! Jeez, my sissies are waaaaay cooler than I thought! I might, like, stop denying that I'm related to you guys!"

* * *

It was stupid. It really, really was. But my head was being ambushed. Apparently, Darcy had controlled me for so long, he had found a way to control my thoughts, too. It was really starting to grate on me.

George offered to carry my luggage. _He knew that you'd say no. Look at him—he wouldn't be able to carry both yours and his. _

George put his hand on the small of my back as we walked. _Possessive. Not in a good way. _

George smooth-talked my mother. _He's clearly putting on a very good show—nobody takes in Bettie Bennet that smoothly. If he's that good at acting, I wonder what else…_

George opened my car door. _Yay for George! Insta-brownie-points, and all he had to do is reach out, exert the tiniest bit of force, and pull back. I hope the poor baby didn't hurt his arm!_

George smiled at me in the car. _Fake. Didn't reach his eyes._

George initiated conversation with Lydia. _Clever move. Bonus points for being interested in my family and he can look at her pretty face! And maybe he can even sneak a glance at her D-cups. _

George whispered into my ear that he loved me.

_Liar._


End file.
